


Leave the Pieces

by mac_haze



Category: Shameless (TV), Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-28
Updated: 2013-03-28
Packaged: 2017-12-06 20:03:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/739570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mac_haze/pseuds/mac_haze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey didn't do emotions. They were messy and complicated and made hiding the truth more difficult. Especially when the truth he was hiding from was Ian. </p><p>Sequel to Broken Things</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leave the Pieces

**Author's Note:**

> Written after seeing the promo for 3x09. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own 'em, I just play with 'em

Mickey had been on the roof early enough to see the sunrise but he didn’t remember much after that. Somehow he had ended up back inside the abandoned warehouse huddled on the floor. He hadn’t even noticed that his legs had gone numb from sitting for so long or that the bottle of whiskey he had been taking absent swigs from was almost empty. He hadn’t noticed the day was almost over until Ian’s voice broke through the haze. 

“Is it true?” Ian tried to hide the fear in his voice. 

Mickey blinked at him, his eyes finally refocusing. Ian attempted to seem casual, leaning against a column near the stairs, but he wasn’t fooling Mickey. The rigid set of his shoulders and the tension lines around his eyes were visible from across the room despite the twilight that had settled in.

He knew Ian would find out about his bullshit marriage eventually, he just never considered how much it would hurt to have the conversation—or rather the argument, judging from Ian’s tone of voice. Mickey tried to sneer, but it came off as more of a grimace.

“Answer me.” 

Mickey could hear betrayal in Ian’s voice, and why shouldn’t he feel betrayed? He had every right, and hell, Mickey knew he was betraying himself at this point. 

“You owe me an explanation!”

Mickey froze at those words. Mickey owed him? What more could Ian possibly want? He had gotten shot, not once, but twice for this kid. He had disregarded every level of common sense he had to give Ian the closest thing to an honest date he could muster and had nearly gotten the both of them killed for his trouble. Mickey had gone as far as to allow himself to be happy, and to think that maybe everything could work out because Ian made him want to believe in happy endings. 

He shoved himself to his feet, swaying, slightly in part from the pins and needles dancing along his already frayed nerves, and partly from the alcohol. 

“Fuck you. I am not doing this right now, Gallagher,” he hissed in Ian’s face. 

He turned on his heel and shoved by Ian to start down the stairs. 

“So it is true then.” 

The accusation did nothing but fuel Mickey’s anger as Ian kept pace with him. Mickey knew he would follow. It seemed that for the last few months, wherever Mickey went Ian wasn’t far behind. Then again, really thinking about it, he could say the same thing about himself. 

“You can’t get married,” Ian nearly shouted.

Mickey whirled around and nearly crashed into Ian. 

His voice, low and dangerous, said, “Leave it the fuck alone.” 

Ian paid no attention—of course he didn’t. Sometimes the guy could be so unbelievably headstrong it was borderline stupid. 

Ian always wanted to talk. He never shut up. But this, this was something Mickey couldn’t talk about. Wouldn’t talk about, because if he did, that would make it real. That thought alone should have been enough to make him leave, walk away and not look back. He tried to walk away, really he did. Instead he stalled, not wanting to hear Ian’s voice, but needing to hear it. Staying away from Ian was like a challenge he had been deliberately failing. It was one of the reasons he kept retreating to the abandoned warehouses. He knew that sooner or later, Ian would find him. Regardless of his sudden urge to be alone, the only time the itch under his skin faded was when Ian appeared. 

“I know you don’t want to do this just like you didn’t—” Ian started but Mickey cut him off. 

“You’re wrong. I want this. All I needed was a good woman to set me straight.” Mickey didn’t even believe himself.

Ian’s expression was as hard as his voice. “I don’t believe that, and I know you sure as fuck don’t.”

Ian took a step toward Mickey and another bout of panic started to set in.

“Stay the fuck away from me,” he warned. 

Ian wouldn’t stop because that’s what Ian did. He kept pushing and pushing until he broke through every single wall Mickey had built around himself. There were times when Mickey hated him for that, like now. This was one of those times. He knew that if Ian kept pushing he would break completely and that was something that he couldn’t afford. Not after all that had happened, not after what Terry had threatened. Somehow, he had stitched the pieces of himself into something that resembled who he had once been, but only just. 

Ian kept advancing and Mickey suddenly felt like he was slowly being backed into a corner, which was ridiculous because at this point, they were in one of the courtyards in the center of the warehouse complex. Agitation mounted in his system and his heart rate kicked up a few notches, blood rushing through his ears making him jittery.

He ran his hand over his face, his thumb grazing over his bottom lip—the fight in him rising to the surface. He didn’t know any other way to make Ian understand, he had to make Ian listen. 

Ian was nearly on him and before he could even think about what he was doing, Mickey had shoved at Ian hard, causing him to stumble momentarily before recovering and coming at him again.

“I’m not leaving.” 

The meaning of Ian’s words didn’t go unnoticed. Mickey flashed back to that day, jagged images tearing him open: Terry attacking Ian…Mickey trying to distract him…Terry’s fists…Ian making a break for his room to grab the .22 he kept under his mattress instead of going for the front door…Terry’s gun…the wrecked look on Ian’s face…

Ian came at him again, but the only thing Mickey saw in front of him was Terry. They scuffled, shoving at each other. 

Suddenly they broke apart and Ian took a step back.

Somewhere in the struggle Mickey had grabbed for the .22 in his waistband and was now pointing it at Ian. 

Mickey blinked, his whole body strung tight. “You don’t mean anyth—”

“Say it, Mick.” 

Ian took a step forward, daring Mickey to react. Ian’s entire body screamed defiance right down to the way he stepped so close the barrel of the gun was nearly pressed to his chest. 

They stared at each other. 

“I’m nothing but a warm mouth to you.”

Ian’s voice parroted back the words Mickey had said all those months ago. Words that he hadn’t meant, words that he wished he could have taken back as soon as he said them.

Mickey drew in a shaky breath, his resolve cracking slightly.

“Fucking say it.” 

Ian tipped his head back in an obvious challenge, his eyes daring and wild.

This was all wrong. How had this happened? This wasn’t what he wanted. 

Mickey gripped the gun tighter, his hands shaking before the breath left his lungs in a pained hiss. He took half a step back, shoving the gun back into his waistband. 

“What do you want me to say?” He tried to sound less defeated than he felt. 

“I want you to tell the truth.” 

Ian advanced on him again and for the first time in his life, Mickey took a step back.

“I already told you the fucking truth!”

“Stop lying! All you’ve ever done is lie to yourself!” 

Another step forward.

“Shut up.” 

Another step back.

“I want you to acknowledge that we were together. That somewhere along the line, the two of us stopped being just about the sex.” 

Another step forward.

Mickey shook his head and took another step back.

“I want you to say that what we had was good. I want you to say that we’ll get past this.”

Through the haze of denial and fear, Mickey knew where Ian was going. He could practically hear the words leave Ian’s mouth before he said them. He knew how good those words would sound and he couldn’t allow that sort of temptation. 

“I want you to say that…”

Mickey couldn’t breathe. He was panting even though he had barely moved. His heart was pounding so hard that he could feel his ribcage vibrating. He had moved before he knew what he was doing.

Mickey rushed forward, his left hand gripping Ian’s shoulder while his right hand landed a punch so hard the joints of his knuckles and wrist cracked on impact. He heard a great rush of air forced from Ian as he lost his footing and went down hard on a knee, one hand keeping him from toppling over, the other cradling his stomach. 

Ian lifted his head, eyes boring into Mickey’s as he drew enough breath to say, “You love me, and you’re gay.”

The raw honesty in Ian’s eyes nearly killed him. Mickey had known Ian was in love with him for a long time. He had refused to admit it because that would mean admitting to himself he had been in love with Ian all along.

It was true. He could outwardly deny it all he wanted, but in the silence there was no getting around it. He loved Ian, and that terrified him. Mickey had lived his life in degrees of fear that he hid under anger and indifference. He didn’t do emotions, they were complicated and messy and nothing but trouble. 

He leaned down, gripped Ian’s shirt in his fists, and tugged them together so their foreheads almost touched. He could feel Ian’s breath on his lips. 

With that, Mickey drew back and punched Ian as hard as he could, the blow connecting with his cheek. Before Ian could recover, Mickey hit him again, even harder than before, this time catching the corner of his eye.

Ian lay sprawled on the ground, bleeding and breathing harshly through clenched teeth. He hadn’t even bothered to fight back. 

“You should have left when you had the chance,” Mickey spat, looming over him. 

Giving Ian one final glance, he turned and walked away leaving shattered pieces of the truth in his wake.


End file.
